


Days.

by pctter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bleur, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fleur being the queen she is, Fleur calls Voldemort "Voldymort" and I think it's funny, Fluff, Honeydukes, POV First Person, only because it's mentioned once haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pctter/pseuds/pctter
Summary: “Tu agit de façon ridicule, Fleur.”You are acting ridiculous, Fleur.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Days.

**Author's Note:**

> I was mad at Wattpad for making my cover blurry so I decided to write this :,)  
> (I also wanted to add Bill and Fleur to this one-word title series ahaha-)
> 
> DO NOT REPOST MY WORK TO ANOTHER SITE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.

Every day.

They look at me like I’m some sort of prize. Like I’m a reward they earn. Like I’m a trophy to be won and put on a shelf, sitting pretty and quiet.  
They only want me for my looks. I know that.

Every day.

“Oh, you’re so lucky to have veela blood,” people gush as they reach out to touch my hair. I move away a bit, as if though I’m going to get another drink, or am about to put my hair up so I don’t act rude.  
You are flawless, others say, staring at me closely like I’m an art exhibit. I just laugh lightly and thank them.

Every day.

Boys walk up to me, shuffle their feet, then ask me to go on a date with them. I turn most down, knowing that they want me for one reason, my looks. They can’t help it either, I am like a flower and they are bees, buzzing angrily when another comes up to me and talks. 

Every day.

I look at myself in the mirror, tell myself that I know I’m worth more than an accessory to some man, but when I tell others this, they laugh and wave their hands around.   
“Tu agit de façon ridicule, Fleur.”  
You are acting ridiculous, Fleur.  
Of course. Don’t act ridiculous, Fleur, no one will care about that.

Every day.

When I go to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament, I am ready for the many eyes following my every move, boys with wishing and girls with jealousy.  
Some days I want to hide away in the carriage, but I know I’m better than that. I’m Fleur Delacour, after all. I’ve put up with it all these years, why change now?  
And if my presence keeps my sister from prying eyes, it is worth it.

Every day.

Until June arrives.  
A man, who I presume must have come for Harry, sticks out at me. He doesn’t look at me the way others do, they stare, they look at me slowly, head to toe.   
His eyes merely pass over me as he looks at the others visiting the champions, and I am relieved when the man turns his back on the small crowd.   
At least someone is sensible around here.  
I know it is silly, but I can’t stop looking at him. There’s a different air about him, as if though he wasn’t fazed by being in the same room as me, as if though he doesn’t care about taking a chance at charming me.  
I finally tear my eyes away when they head for the exit, but before the man leaves, he turns his head, and his eyes find mine, and he smiles softly before leaving.   
My mother nudges me and I shake my head, thinking, he’s probably just like every other I’ve met.

Every day.

Or, more precisely, the days we go on dates. I get stares upon stares at the restaurants, girls glaring at me with burning hatred and boys looking at me with longing. Bill asks me questions, but not about my looks or anything. He asks me the most random questions.   
“What type of apples do you like the most? Personally, I like green ones, they’re really crunchy, and I like the color. But I also like those red ones, crisphoney? I don’t remember what the Muggles call them, but anyway, they’re also really crunchy. Anyways, do you have any favorite apples?”  
I laugh at Bill’s enthusiasm, then say, “I don’t really have a favorite… If I had to choose, I’d say the Gala apples.”  
Bill nods, looking satisfied with my answer. “What is your opinion on Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans?”  
I look at Bill with a blank expression. “My answer remains the same. I do not like them.”  
“Well, it wasn’t my fault the first one you got was earwax!” says Bill and I raise my eyebrows. He just laughs and shrugs. “It was luck.”  
“Yes, it’s quite amusing isn’t it? But that goblin didn’t seem to think so.”  
That sobers Bill up, but he still has a grin on his face.

Every day.

Every day, the thoughts of whether Bill is like the others whittle down, bit by bit. He does not seem to care about the fact that I’m part veela. He has only mentioned my looks a couple of times, but that was to tell me how beautiful I looked in this dress or those shoes.

Every day.

When Bill proposes a year later, I say yes.  
It’d been one of those days where the sky was clear, so blue, a color that made the sky seem to go on forever. The snow crunched under our feet as we walked across the field, content with the other’s presence.  
I’d only realized my love for Bill a couple of months before, but I could be sure then that if he proposed, I’d say yes. I wanted to spend every day of the rest of my life with him.  
The smile that brightens Bill’s whole face as he slips the ring onto my finger tells me that I made the right choice.

Every day.

After the war, we were both relieved to be alive, to be safe. Yes, we came out maimed, physically and mentally, but we were alive, and I’m grateful for that because every day now I can stop worrying about Voldymort, or whatever his name is, and just focus on Bill and the future we have at our fingertips.  
“We could go to Brazil, what do you think about Brazil? Oh wait, what about Russia? Or maybe Madagascar? Madagascar sounds cool.”  
Though Greyback did a number on Bill’s face, his excitement is still there, making his face look almost as normal as it was before as he throws all possible questions at me.

Every day.

Wherever I am, whether on the couch reading or standing in an aisle of Honeydukes, Bill turns to me and takes my hand, kissing my knuckles.  
“I’m glad we’re alive, so every day I can tell you over and over, I love you. I’ll never stop.”  
I smile and say, “I love you too, Bill.”


End file.
